Authors: Sophia Kenzie
Beautiful PRICK (10 page)
The movie is interesting. Actually, the whole process is
interesting. It takes so long to film a single page of the script. They keep
cutting and resetting and cutting and resetting, and then they change the
camera angle, and then they change it again. I get it, it makes sense, but wow:
it’s kind of a big waste of time.
I know that television is a bit different, as they’re on a
much stricter timetable, but it really has to be hard for people to see the
vision of the piece, or at least feel the journey of the characters when they
keep cutting and resetting.
“Hey,” I approach Johnny as he comes off set for a quick sip
of water, “what are the chances that you could introduce me to the
screenwriter?”
He looks around, focusing on a few people around the camera.
“Yeah, I could do that. Why? The dude is kind of old.” He pushes his hair back.
“And honestly, I think he might be gay.”
“Johnny, I’m not asking you for a hook up.” I playfully slap
his chest. “I want to talk to him about being a writer.”
“Oh, okay.” Then he does a double take. “Why?”
I sigh. “Because I’m a writer, Johnny.”
Okay, I can’t be mad at him,
I
never told him that. But I’m actually madder at myself. I’ve been on a movie
set for a few weeks now, and I haven’t told anyone what I actually want to do
for my career. I spend every minute of every day with Johnny Braylock and he
had no idea. Shame on me.
“Was I supposed to know that?” He squints his eyes as he
searches his memories.
“I guess I never told you.” I cross my arms, all of a sudden
feeling very vulnerable. “I guess with the whole mugging thing, I just got a
little sidetracked.”
He lightly rests his palm on my shoulder, and I suddenly
feel a shock through my body. He must feel it too, because he pulls quickly
away and makes an odd humming or awkward laughing kind of sound.
“Umm,” he shoves his hands in his pockets, “yeah, when
filming is wrapped for the day, I’ll see about introducing you two.”
“Thanks Johnny.” I smile, but quickly turn and walk away.
I just have no idea to where I’m walking.
After about fifty paces, I turn around and walk right back
to where I was standing. Luckily, he has returned to set, so I don’t have to
face him again... at least right away.
That wasn’t at all awkward.
And now I’m back to staring at him. Since I seriously took
notice of his dark, seducing eyes, they’re now the first things I see when I
look at him. They draw me in. They freeze me. Okay, let’s be honest: the first
things I see are his shoulders. Their sheer girth makes me want to collapse
into his chest. So then I notice his chest. He has the kind of definition that
you only see on guys in movies and you wonder if a normal guy could ever
achieve anything of such greatness. But, seeing as he is one of those ‘guys in
movies’, I guess I do still wonder that. After his shoulders and his chest,
though, I see his eyes.
No, I’m lying again.
You have to understand that I am much shorter than him, so
my eye level naturally rests in the shoulder/chest region. And, seeing as I
have of late been a bit self-conscious and timid, my eyes tend to veer down. So
then I see his abs. Even with his shirt on, I swear, they just peek through,
it’s not my fault. And, it’s most likely attributed
to the fact that he wears really tight shirts. So in reality, he’s asking for
the attention.
Yeah, I don’t doubt that for a second.
And
then
I notice his eyes… unless his shirt is off,
which it often is. When his shirt is off, I’m drawn to those freaking boy lines
at his hips that leave a perfectly straight v-shaped arrow that slips just
below the line of his pants, or often, his towel. And then I start to think
really dirty things.
But, when the shirt is on, I look into his eyes, as I am
now. I want to know what the mystery is behind that darkness. I want to know
what he’s thinking. I want to know if his life is where he thought it would be.
Has he accomplished his goals? What more does he hope to achieve? Is this the
life he always wanted or is something missing?
Is he happy?
Melissa was right. I’ve been basing every feeling I have for
this man only on what I think I know about him. The truth of the matter is that
I don’t know him at all. When did I become so shallow?
And do I actually want to know him?
As I think that, I feel something sink inside of me. I feel
the muscles in my face relax and the constant twisting in my stomach subside. Of
course I want to know him. If nothing else, I owe it to my ten, eleven, twelve,
thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and eighteen year old selves to see how
my fairy tale fantasy plays out.
When I was seventeen, I dated Billy D. Jenkins. He knew how
to make a young girl forget about a silly crush.
After about a year though, I realized that he was very, very
gay. That’s why when I was eighteen years old, I went back to my silly crush on
Johnny Braylock. It was the logical choice.
Shooting is a bit ahead of schedule, and we’re already
working on the few pages leading up to the stint where Johnny’s character is in
the Marines. Tomorrow, we’re filming the big goodbye scene between Johnny and
his love interest. I’m oddly excited to see that one. I don’t know why, but I
am. The girl is an up-and-coming actress, whom I believe is only twenty three
or twenty four. She has one of those faces, though, where if I told you she was
thirty, you’d believe me, so it doesn’t look too creepy when her and Johnny are
together.
Or maybe it does, but I’m too focused on Johnny to notice
otherwise.
Either way, I’m excited about the scene.
As the director yells, “cut,” at the end of the day, I feel
my phone begin to buzz in my pocket. It’s Nick. And I’m not excited.
I walk to the back of the studio and answer the phone. “Hey
Nick, what’s up?”
“Where are you?” He quickly responds.
“At work. Where else would I be?” I’m short with him,
because honestly, I don’t know why he’s calling me.
“It’s like eight o’clock. You’re still on set?”
“That’s how these things normally work.” I feel bad for my
tone, but I can’t help myself.
I don’t know if Nick doesn’t notice or maybe doesn’t care,
but he plows through my apathy. “Will you be home in about two hours?”
I look back out to the sound stage and it seems that
everyone is packing up, meaning we’re most likely wrapped for the day. “Yeah,
two hours is about right. Why?”
“I just want to talk.”
And I don’t want to talk. I don’t understand why we’re still
playing this game: why he still thinks we need to talk this out. We’re not
going to solve anything. I don’t want to solve anything. But, I obviously still
care about him, so I appease him.
“Okay, I’ll call you in two hours.”
“Thanks, Caroline. I’m looking forward to it.”
I feel a tap on my shoulder, which causes me to yelp as I
spin around.
“Oh my God, Johnny, you scared me half to death.” I scold
him.
Then I realize Nick is still on the phone. I only realize it
because he’s yelling at me to tell him what happened. I quickly do, and he
yells at me to drop Johnny for two seconds and talk to him. But it’s not just
Johnny. Standing next to him is the older, possibly gay man who wrote this very
movie. Johnny is smiling from ear to ear, like a puppy that is anxiously
waiting for a treat, a pat on the head, and the obligatory “good boy”.
“Nick, I have to go.” I hang up the phone without waiting
for his response. “Caroline Carver.” I stick out my hand.
“Josh Mandelbaum.” He returns my shake. “Nice to meet you,
Caroline.”
“You too.”
“So Johnny here tells me you’re a writer.”
Johnny stands there with that same stupid grin while I pour
my heart and soul out to Josh Mandelbaum. I tell him about the classes I’ve
taken and the bites I’ve had, and the stories I’ve had published, and why I ultimately
moved to LA. We walk out into the studio lot as he briefly tells me of his
journey and how he found success.
It is exciting, thrilling, and for the first time, I feel
like I was doing something important. I feel like I am on my way.
“Can you send me some stuff?” Josh asks as our conversation
begins to wrap.
“Absolutely.” I say almost too quickly. “What would you like
to see?”
“Whatever you want to show me, but a spec script and maybe a
pilot are definitely good pieces to start with.”
“Absolutely.” I say again, as if it’s the only word in my
entire vocabulary.
He hands me his card, shakes my hand, and promises to see my
on set tomorrow.
I turn to Johnny with ridiculously wide eyes and make some
sort of screeching sound as I begin to jump up and down.
“You happy?” He raises his eyebrows at me.
“More than happy.” I say, trying desperately to refrain from
hugging him.
“Great. Now I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.” I don’t care if this is an eye for an eye
relationship. The eye he just gave me is worthy of anything in return.
Johnny pulls a few sheets of paper from his pocket. “Love
scenes aren’t really my cup of tea. Would you help me work on tomorrow’s
pages?”
“You just want me to read lines with you?”
“Umm, yeah.” He smiles. “Pretty much.”
So I repeat again the only word I seem to know during this
entre conversation. “Absolutely.”
“Thank you, Caroline.”
I’m just going to read a few lines with Johnny. That’s easy
enough, right?
We decide to make the trip to my apartment, with Johnny
using the excuse that aside from his early morning personal training session
and our lunchtime MMA lessons, he really didn’t get to work out as much as he
was hoping, and he could really use the twelve mile bike ride back to my
apartment.
I know the real reason though: although I’ve been feeling
much safer since starting our training, much more confident that I could handle
myself out there on the big, scary streets, Johnny has been overly cautious
about me lately. He says he just wants to know where I am at all times in case
he needs something or we get called back onto set, but I know he’s more so
worried about me since the incident. So I don’t fight too much when he makes me
text him as soon as I get home, if I plan on going to Melissa’s for dinner, or
even out to the corner store to buy milk.
It’s annoying, and against everything I believe in as an
independent woman, but I have to say: sometimes it’s nice to have someone
looking out for you. It’s a weird feeling that pulls me in so many different
directions, but deep down, I think I kind of cherish it.
So we end up at my apartment. It’s a nice night: a little
chilly, but when I propose that we sit outside on my little porch, Johnny is
all for it. I pour him a glass of wine and we both sit silently for a moment,
looking over my apartment complex. Overall, it’s not a bad place. There’s a
nice-sized pool-not nice-sized enough to swim laps, but I don’t do that anyway,
so it’s not a big issue. There are lounging chairs positioned around it for sun
tanning. That’s what I do. There’s also a volleyball court. I love volleyball. It’s
probably the only thing I love that I’m simply terrible at. I wonder if Johnny
likes volleyball.
Not important.
“Let me see the pages.” I hold my hand out to him.
“First tell me how you got into writing.” Instead of placing
papers in my hand, he wriggles his fingers between mine.
“This is more important right now.” I try to pull away, but
he doesn’t let me. He also doesn’t let it faze him that I am trying to pull
away. He just squeezes my hand tighter and smiles bigger.
“No,
this
is more important right now.” He lifts my
hand to his lips and plants the smallest kiss.
And I crack up.
“Johnny! What are you doing?”
“Seducing you?” He finally releases his grip on me.
“What did we talk about?” I try to remain on task, but there
is only so many times I can ignore his advances before I just give into his
charm. “We have to work on your pages. That’s why you came over.”
I take a quick peek at the time on my phone. I have one hour
until I have to call Nick, and I’m quite certain that if I don’t call him
first, he’s going to call me, so there isn’t much wiggle room.
“Are you going somewhere?” He grabs my attention back for my
phone.
“No.”
“Liar.” He accuses.
“I’m not lying. I just have an hour until…” I stop myself. Why
don’t I want to tell him that I have to call Nick?
“Until what?”
“I just have to make a phone call.” I shake my head, hoping
he understands that I don’t want to talk about it,
I
just want to move on.
He drops that, but doesn’t drop the whole thing. “Tell me
why you became a writer and we can get to the pages.”
I suck in quick, trying to decide what to tell him. “Why’d
you become an actor?”
“No, you can’t do that, Caroline. I asked you first.” He
leans his elbows onto the little table that separates us.
“Fine.” I huff. “I…” I stall, trying to think about how to
say what I’m thinking. “I’m not super funny, or seemingly well versed in real
life, but for some reason, when I sit down to write, words just make sense to
me. It’s like music that no one taught me to play,
the
words have a rhythm, and when I put them together on a piece of paper, it’s
like my own little symphony.”
I catch myself smiling as I hear the word “symphony” escape
my lips. “I’m sorry.” I shake myself from my rant.
“For what?” Johnny’s voice is soft. He seems intrigued.
“That was weird.” I chuckle, breaking myself free from the
awkwardness.
“It wasn’t. Not at all.”
I still try to divert the attention from myself. “Your turn.
Why’d you become an actor?”
Johnny sits back in his chair and looks to the darkened sky.
“I don’t think it was ever a dream of mine. When I was twelve, my mom took my
sister and me to an audition, and we both got the parts. Then, it kind of just
spiraled out of control from there.”
I look to him as he continues to look up. “Have you ever
thought about trying something else?”
“Wait.” His eyes catch my stare. “Do I get to ask you
another question?”
“Nope.” I childishly shake my head.
“Then we’ll have to save my answer for another time.”
Johnny takes a quick sip of wine before handing me the pages
he wants to work on. I glance over it quickly, so I’m not surprised by anything
while we’re reading.
It’s pretty straightforward. It’s the night before he leaves
to go overseas and he’s trying to tell Lara, his love interest, that he doesn’t
want her to wait for him. She’s still hoping he’ll change his mind and not go
on the “suicide mission”, but his decision is made: he’s doing it for his
brother.
We run the beginning a few times, helping him settle into
the moment.
“Okay, at this point, you’re sitting on my lap.” He pushes
his chair back.
“Right.” I agree, but don’t move.
He chuckles at me. “Caroline, it’s very
different talking to someone across the table than it
is talking to them while they’re six inches away from you.”
“Luckily, you’re a good actor.” I tease.
“This is the weird part.” His eyes widen as he silently
begs. “I just don’t want it to not work.”
“Why wouldn’t it work?”
He looks up again before looking back at me. “Can I tell you
a secret?”
“Of course.” I easily say, expecting him to make some sexual
joke.
“I can do the shoot ‘em up and kick ‘em in the face movies,
but this… something like this scene is what people are going to look at and
decide what they think of me. If I do this well, it could mean that I might one
day play real parts instead of just the high school jock turned street
fighter.”
I know exactly what he means, and it’s just so interesting. Here’s
this man who has everything so many people dream of, and yet, there’s still
something else to work toward. He’s not finished. He hasn’t seen the
achievement of his ultimate goal. And he’s asking me for help.
So I push back my chair and crawl into his lap.
“Tell me you’ll stay.” I look into his eyes as I steal my
glance away from the words on the page.
Johnny softens, finding the words from his memory. “I’ll
stay tonight.”
“I’m not asking you for tonight. I’m asking you for
forever.”
He takes a breath, letting his
rehearsed
lines sink into his character’s thoughts. “And what would that say about me?”
I bite my lower lip. “That you’re a boy… in love with a
girl.”
He runs his fingers through my hair, taking his gaze far
away. “I won’t tell you I am, and I won’t tell you I’m not. But what would that
matter if we have nothing to fight for?”
“Fight for us.” I push back from him.
“Can’t you see that I am?” He grabs the back of my neck and
brings my face to his so our foreheads are touching one another.
“And if I don’t wait for you?”
“I’m asking you not to.” He whispers.
“So you’re asking me to leave you alone without any hope?”
His thumb moves down, crosses my cheek, and then presses
into my bottom lip. “Hope is all I have.”
I glance back over to the page, reading my final line. “It’s
not all you have. Tonight, you have me.”
Okay, the words are
kind of
corny, but for some reason, we’re locked into it. We both take a shallow
breath, sucking in the tension between us. Our eyes are focused and our mouths are
both slightly open. I know I should pull away, but it doesn’t feel right to
move. It feels right to stay.
“Do I have another line?” Johnny whispers, so intensely.
“The stage directions say that they kiss.”
“They kiss?”
“Yes.” I hiss out the ‘s’, trying to hang onto my breath.
“Okay.”
I feel his face come closer, and our lips barely touch. We
both bring
our lips down, reaching for one
another. It’s slow, cautious, but there’s a purpose, and neither of us are
backing down. I feel the heat from his breath as he pulls me closer, and
finally the wetness from his tongue invades my mouth. He’s warm, full, and I
can feel his energy surge throughout my entire body. I arch into him, somehow
hoping that the kiss turns into something greater. His hands move to my upper
back and the force is too much to bear. I let out a sigh that turns into a moan
and he meets me with a deeper, more intensifying kiss. I don’t know what more I
want, but I know I want to be closer. I angle my chest into his, enticed by the
feeling of our bodies touching one another. My fingers trail from his shoulders
and into his hair, massaging his neck along the way. He hums his own moan into
my mouth, and I get dizzy as I feel my body giving into my carnal desires.
I want to say his name, to let him know that it’s him I know
I’m kissing, but I don’t want to peel my lips from his. I want to keep kissing
him. I want him to pick me up and take me inside. I want him to…
He stops suddenly, and I quickly find out why.
“Just his assistant, huh?” It’s Nick. And he’s not on the
other end of the phone. He’s standing behind me.
“What are you doing here?” I quickly flip my head to face
his direction.
His face is stern, angry, and unforgiving.
“Get inside. Now.”